dk.solesurvivor-第51节

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　　If　Tom　Cruise　had　undergone　cosmetic　surgery　to　improve　his　appearance；　he　might　have　been　as　handsome　as　Joe's　waiter。　His　name　was　Gene；　and　he　seemed　to　have　had　a　twinkle　surgically　inserted　in　each　of　his　gas…flame…blue　eyes。
　　After　ordering　a　Corona；　Joe　went　to　the　men's　room　and　winced　at　the　mirror。　With　his　beard　stubble；　he　resembled　one　of　the　criminal　Beagle　Boys　in　old　Scrooge　McDuck　ics。　He　washed　his　hands　and　face；　bed　his　hair；　and　smoothed　his　jacket。　He　still　looked　like　he　should　be　seated　at　not　a　window　table　but　a　Dumpster。
　　Back　at　his　table；　sipping　ice…cold　beer；　he　surveyed　the　other　patrons。　Several　were　famous。
　　An　action…movie　hero　three　tables　away　was　even　more　stubbled　than　Joe；　and　his　hair　was　matted　and　tousled　like　that　of　a　small　boy　just　awakened　from　a　nap。　He　was　dressed　in　tattered　black　jeans　and　a　pleated　tuxedo　shirt。
　　Nearer　was　an　Oscar…nominated　actor　and　well…known　heroin　addict　in　an　eccentric　outfit　fumbled　from　the　closet　in　a　state　of　chemical　bliss：　black　loafers　without　socks；　green…plaid　golf　pants；　a　brown…chequered　sportscoat；　and　a　pale　blue…denim　shirt。　In　spite　of　his　ensemble；　the　most　colourful　things　about　him　were　his　bloodshot　eyes　and　his　swollen；　flame…red　eyelids。
　　Joe　relaxed　and　enjoyed　dinner。　Pureed　corn　and　black…bean　soups　were　poured　into　the　same　dish　in　such　a　way　as　to　form　a　yellow　and　black　yin…and…yang　pattern。　The　mesquite…grilled　salmon　was　on　a　bed　of　mango…and…red…pepper　salsa。　Everything　was　delicious。
　　While　he　ate；　he　spent　as　much　time　watching　the　customers　as　he　did　staring　at　the　sea。　Even　those　who　were　not　famous　were　colourful；　frequently　ravishing；　and　generally　engaged　in　one　sort　of　performance　or　another。
　　Los　Angeles　was　the　most　glamorous；　tackiest；　most　elegant；　seediest；　most　clever；　dumbest；　most　beautiful；　ugliest；　forward　looking；　retro…thinking；　altruistic；　self…absorbed；　deal…savvy；　politically　ignorant；　artistic…minded；　criminal…loving；　meaning…obsessed；　money…grubbing；　laid…back；　frantic　city　on　the　planet。　And　any　two　slices　of　it；　as　different　as　Bel　Air　and　Watts；　were　nevertheless　uncannily　alike　in　essence：　rich　with　the　same　crazy　hungers；　hopes；　and　despairs。
　　By　the　time　he　was　finishing　dinner　with　mango　bread　pudding　and　jalapeno　ice　cream；　Joe　was　surprised　to　realize　how　much　he　enjoyed　this　people…watching。　He　and　Michelle　had　spent　afternoons　strolling　places　as　disparate　as　Rodeo　Drive　and　City　Walk；　checking　out　the　'two…footed　entertainment；'　but　he　had　not　been　interested　in　other　people　for　the　past　year；　only　in　himself　and　his　pain。
　　The　realization　that　Nina　was　alive　and　the　prospect　of　finding　her　were　slowly　bringing　Joe　out　of　himself　and　back　to　life。
　　A　heavy…set　black　woman　in　a　red　and　gold　muumuu　and　two　pounds　of　jewellery　had　been　spelling　the　hostess。　Now　she　escorted　two　men　to　a　nearby　table。
　　Both　of　these　new　patrons　were　dressed　in　black　slacks；　white　silk　shirts；　and　black　leather　jackets　as　supple　as　silk。　The　older　of　the　two；　approximately　forty；　had　enormous　sad　eyes　and　a　mouth　sufficiently　sensuous　to　assure　him　a　contract　to　star　in　Revlon　lipstick　advertisements。　He　would　have　been　handsome　enough　to　be　a　waiter…except　that　his　nose　was　red　and　misshapen　from　years　of　heavy　drinking；　and　he　never　quite　closed　his　mouth；　which　gave　him　a　vacuous　look。　His　blue…eyed　panion；　ten　years　younger；　was　as　pink…faced　as　if　he　had　been　boiled…and　plagued　by　a　nervous　smile　that　he　couldn't　control；　as　if　chronically　unsure　of　himself。
　　The　willowy　brunette　having　dinner　with　the　movie…star…slash…heroin…addict　developed　an　instant　attraction　for　the　guy　with　the　Mick　Jagger　mouth；　in　spite　of　his　rose…bloom　nose。　She　stared　at　him　so　hard　and　so　insistently　that　he　responded　to　her　as　quickly　as　a　trout　would　respond　to　a　fat　bug　bobbing　on　the　surface　of　a　stream…though　it　was　difficult　to　say　which　of　these　two　was　the　trout　and　which　the　tender　morsel。
　　The　actor…addict　became　aware　of　his　panion's　infatuation；　and　he；　too；　began　to　stare　at　the　man　with　the　melancholy　eyes　…though　he　was　glaring　rather　than　flirting。　Suddenly　he　rose　from　the　table；　almost　knocking　over　his　chair；　and　weaved　across　the　restaurant；　as　if　intending　either　to　strike　or　regurgitate　upon　his　rival。　Instead；　he　curved　away　from　the　two　men's　table　and　disappeared　into　the　hall　that　led　to　the　restrooms。
　　By　this　time；　the　sad…eyed　man　was　eating　baby　shrimps　on　a　bed　of　polenta。　He　speared　each　tiny　crustacean　on　the　point　of　his　fork　and　studied　it　appreciatively　before　sucking　it　off　the　tines　with　obscene　relish。　As　he　leisurely　savoured　each　bite；　he　looked　toward　the　brunette　as　if　to　say　that　if　he　ever　got　a　chance　to　bed　her；　she　could　rest　assured　that　she　would　wind　up　as　thoroughly　shelled　and　de…veined　as　the　shrimps。
　　The　brunette　was　aroused　or　repulsed。　Hard　to　tell　which。　With　some　Angelenos；　those　two　emotions　were　as　inextricably　entwined　as　the　viscera　of　inoperable　Siamese　twins。　Anyway；　she　departed　the　actor…addict's　table　and　drew　up　a　chair　to　sit　with　the　two　men　in　leather　jackets。
　　Joe　wondered　how　interesting　things　would　get　when　the　wasted　actor　returned…no　doubt　with　a　white　dust　glowing　around　the　rims　of　his　nostrils；　since　current　heroin　was　sufficiently　pure　to　snort。　Before　events　could　develop；　the　waiter；　Gene　of　the　twinkling　eyes；　stopped　by　to　tell　him　there　would　be　no　charge　for　dinner　and　that　Demi　was　waiting　for　him　in　the　kitchen　Surprised；　he　left　a　tip　and　followed　Gene's　directions　toward　the　hallway　that　served　the　restrooms　and　the　cookery。
　　The　late　summer　twilight　had　finally　arrived。　On　the　griddle…flat　horizon；　a　sun　like　a　bloody　yolk　cooked　toward　a　darker　hue。
　　As　Joe　crossed　the　restaurant；　where　all　of　the　tables　were　now　occupied；　something　about　that　three…person　tableau…the　brunette；　the　two　men　in　leather　jackets…teased　his　memory。　By　the　time　that　he　reached　the　hallway　to　the　kitchen；　he　was　puzzled　by　a　full…blown　case　of　deja　vu。
　　Before　stepping　into　the　hall；　Joe　turned　for　one　look　back。　He　saw　the　seducer　with　fork　raised；　savouring　a　speared　shrimp　with　his　sad　eyes；　while　the　brunette　murmured　something　and　the　nervous　pink…faced　man　watched。
　　Joe's　puzzlement　turned　to　alarm。
　　For　an　instant；　he　could　not　understand　why　his　mouth　went　dry　or　why　his　heart　began　to　race。　Then　in　his　mind's　eye　he　saw　the　fork　metamorphose　into　a　stiletto；　and　the　shrimp　became　a　sliver　of　Gouda　cheese。
　　Two　men　and　a　woman。　Not　in　a　restaurant　but　in　a　hotel　room。　Not　this　brunette　but　Barbara　Christman。　If　not　these　two　men；　then　two　astonishingly　similar　to　them。
　　Of　course　Joe　had　never　seen　them；　only　listened　to　Barbara's　brief　but　vivid　descriptions。　The　hound…dog　eyes；　the　nose　that　was　'bashed　red　by　decades　of　drinking；'　the　thick…lipped　mouth。　The　younger　of　the　two：　pink…faced　with　the　ceaselessly　flickering　smile。
　　Joe　was　more　than　twenty…four　hours　past　the　ability　ever　to　believe　in　coincidence　again。
　　Impossibly；　Teknologik　was　here。
　　
　　He　hurried　along　the　hallway；　through　one　of　two　swinging　doors；　and　into　a　roomy　antechamber　used　as　a　salad…prep　area。　Two　white…uniformed　men；　artfully　and　rapidly　arranging　plates　of　greenery；　never　even　glanced　at　him。
　　Beyond；　in　the　main　kitchen；　the　heavy…set　black　woman　in　the　voluminous　muumuu　was　waiting　for　him。　Even　her　bright　dress　and　the　cascades　of　glittering　jewellery　could　not　disguise　her　anxiety。　Her　big…mama；　jazz…singer　face　was　pretty　and　lively　and　made　for　mirth；　but　there　was　no　song　or　laughter　in　her　now。
　　'My　name's　Mahalia。　Real　sorry　I　couldn't　have　dinner　with　you；　Presentable　Joe。　That　would've　been　a　treat。'　Her　sexy…smoky　voice　pegged　her　as　the　woman　whom　he　had　named　Demi。　'But　there's　been　a　change　of　plans。　Follow　me；　honey。'
　　With　the　formidable　majesty　of　a　great　ship　leaving　its　dock；　Mahalia　set　out　across　the　busy　and　immaculate　kitchen　crowded　with　chefs；　cooks；　and　assistants；　past　cooktops　and　ovens　and　griddles　and　grills；　through　steam　and　meat　smoke　and　the　eye…watering　fragrance　of　sautéing　onions。
　　Hurrying　after　her；　Joe　said；　'Then　you　know　about　them？'
　　'Sure　do。　Been　on　the　TV　news　today。　The　news　people　show　you　stuff　to　curl　your　hair；　then　try　to　sell　you　Fritos。　This　awful　business　changes　everythin'。'
　　He　put　an　arm　on　her　shoulder；　halted　her。　'TV　news？'
　　'Some　people　been　murdered　after　she　talks　to　them。'
　　Even　with　the　large　culinary　staff　in　white　flurries　of　activity　around　them；　they　were　afforded　privacy　for　their　conversation　by　the　masking　clang　of　pots；　rattle　of　skillets；　whir　of　mixers；　swish　of　whisks；　clatter　of　dishes；　buzz；　clink；　tink；　ping；　pop；　scrape；　chop；　sizzle。
　　'They　call　it　somethin'　else　on　the　news；'　Mahalia　said；　'but　it's　murder　sure　enough。'　…　'That's　not　what　I　mean；'　he　said。　'I'm　talking　about　the　men　in　the　restaurant。'
　　She　frowned。　'What　men？'
　　'Two　of　them。　Black　slacks；　white　silk　shirts；　black　leather　jackets…'
　　'I　walked　'em　to　their　table。'
　　'You　did；　yeah。　I　just　recognized　them　a　minute　ago。'
　　'Bad　folks？'
　　'The　worst。'
　　Baffle